A Gift of Sanctuary by Candace Robb Read Free Book Online Page B

the stone. Henry Plantagenet crossed it unscathed on his return from his successful campaigns in Ireland; he declared Merlinus a liar.’
    ‘The Lionheart’s father was here?’ Michaelo said, suddenly more interested.
    ‘Aye, that he was. Come, let us cross over.’
    But now Michaelo looked wary as he considered the stone. ‘Your people tell tales about everything.’
    ‘Everything has its tale.’
    ‘What happened when the King called Merlinus a liar?’ asked Sir Robert.
    ‘Someone in the crowd laughed at the King and said, “Perhaps the prediction spoke of another king, yet to come.” It is said that Henry was not pleased, but said no more.’
    ‘Foolish pride,’ Geoffrey muttered.
    It was a nervous group that crossed the bridge.
    The courtyard of the bishop’s palace appeared to be a meeting place for pilgrims and the various clerics who lived in the close. From their furtive gestures and excited whispers Owen guessed they, too, discussed the body that had been left at the gate.
    But the courtyard in which they stood claimed Michaelo’s attention. ‘How magnificent,’ he said, gazing round.
    Sir Robert reluctantly agreed.
    Two great porches, approached by broad stone stairways, led to separate wings. Directly in front, the expanse that housed the great hall presented a deep red ochre façade; at a right angle to the left, the wing that held the bishop’s private quarters was rendered and whitewashed. Owen and Geoffrey stepped aside to allow Brother Michaelo and Sir Robert to ascend to the porch of the great hall first. They were, after all, the pilgrims.
    The porter perked up at Sir Robert’s name. ‘His Grace left word that you should dine with him this evening, Sir Robert. And this will be Brother Michaelo? Secretary to the Archbishop of York?’
    Brother Michaelo bowed low, beaming.
    ‘His Grace requests your presence this evening also. And Master Chaucer.’
    Geoffrey started at his name and made a sweeping bow.
    But the porter was already looking beyond Geoffrey. ‘Captain Archer?’
    Owen gave a curt bow.
    ‘My lord Bishop would see you at once, Captain.’
    ‘At once?’ Sir Robert said. ‘But he has made a long journey––’
    Owen shook his head at his father-in-law, silencing him. ‘Did His Grace say anything else?’ he asked the porter.
    ‘No, Captain.’
    A clerk appeared behind the porter and asked Owen to accompany him down into the courtyard to the bishop’s wing. Michaelo began to follow.
    The porter raised a restraining hand. ‘Brother Michaelo, His Grace wishes a private word with the Captain.’
    Michaelo turned back, indignation colouring his cheeks. Geoffrey coaxed him back up the stairs to the waiting porter.
    Owen followed the clerk down the broad steps and up the matching set to the bishop’s porch. An image of St David greeted him as he drew level with the great door that led into the bishop’s hall, a painting larger than life. Proud it made Owen, to see the patron saint of his people so honoured. Liveried servants flitted about their duties with curious glances at the two who moved swiftly through the brightly painted hall into a parlour with a window overlooking the gateway of the palace. The voices in the courtyard were muted in here. The figures seemed a dumb show.
    ‘Would you care for wine?’ the clerk wheezed, drawing Owen’s attention from the window. The man’s round face was red with exertion from the short walk. A pampered lot here.
    ‘I would be most grateful. But you must not trouble yourself.’ A mere courtesy. Owen knew the poor young man was under orders to give him refreshment.
    Alone, Owen went back to his study of the courtyard. But it offered up no explanation for the bishop’s summons. Did Thoresby’s reach extend so far? Had he found yet another task for Owen?
    Bishop Adam de Houghton paused in the doorway as two servants preceded him, carrying wine and goblets. Tall, fair, with aquiline features and a friendly demeanour, Houghton need